


Wife of the West

by MizJoely



Series: Flash Fic Fest [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform, Warstan, West!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: missconsultingpimpernel asked for a Sherlolly flash fic with the title "Wife Of The West"





	Wife of the West

**Author's Note:**

> Have some rather fluffy West!lock very much inspired by the West!lock art by artbylexie over on tumblr.

“You got a _what_???”

Sherlock gave John a disdainful look. “A mail-order bride, you heard me right, Watson.”

John Watson, the town’s only doctor, shook his head. “I heard you, all right…”

“He simply could not believe his ears,” Mary Watson, his wife and nurse, added cheekily. “A mail-order bride, Sherlock? You? Why?”

Not wanting to admit that it was because his parents - no doubt at the instigation of his meddling older brother - had threatened to cut off his research funding and force him to return to England if he didn’t marry and produce at least one verifiable grandchild, Sherlock shrugged. “Because I doubt I’ll ever find a woman I can actually tolerate on my own, and these women are vetted carefully and actually matched somewhat scientifically to their future husbands. Miss Adler promised me personally,” he added in a rush at both Watsons’ skeptical looks, “that this Miss Molly Hooper wouldn’t be boring or drive me crazy.”

“Miss Adler, eh?” John asked with a smirk. “Since when did the notorious Miss Adler go into the matchmaking business?” Suddenly recalling his wife’s presence, he blushed but added, “I thought she was concerned with more, er, _temporary_ romantic attachments.”

“She’s a multi-tasker, John,” Mary replied with an understanding - and forgiving, thank God - grin. “And I for one can’t wait to meet Miss Hooper and find out exactly what kind of woman she thinks is a match for our dear Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock turned away from them so they couldn’t see the flush on his cheeks, pretending to watch for the train on which his bride-to-be was slated to arrive. He pulled out his pocket-watch; the train was late, as usual, and he was surprised at just how impatient he was for its arrival. Well, not the train so much as the woman Irene thought would be perfect for him. That was exactly what her letter had promised, not that he would share that with the Watsons else find himself subjected to even more teasing.

He let out a silent sigh. This was why he’d waited until the very last minute to tell them about his decision. He loved them, but frankly they enjoyed discomfiting him far too much. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but this one time he’d hoped they’d be a bit more…understanding.

The soft touch of a hand on his arm caught his attention; he turned to see Mary smiling up at him. “I’m sure she’ll be lovely, Sherlock,” she said quietly. She tilted her head back, and Sherlock saw John hurrying toward the station manager’s office. “John is checking on the train, to see if there have been any telegrams as to why it’s late this time. It’s probably cattle on the tracks again, I’m sure.”

He returned her smile ruefully. “Am I that transparent, Mrs. Watson, that you feel I need comforting?”

With a twinkle in her eyes she nodded. “Yup,” she replied, popping the final p as he was wont to do when feeling particularly cheeky. “Us transplanted Brits need to stick together, you know.”

He rested his hand briefly on top of hers. They both turned as they heard John hailing them - and both widened their eyes in surprise to see him escorting a young, tweed-clad, bonnetted woman with him. He held a flower-bedecked valise in his free hand and was grinning broadly. “Train came early,” he said as the pair stopped a few feet away. “Been and gone since before we arrived, according to Stamford. And this,” he added with a flourish, “is Miss Molly Hooper, from Northhamptonshire, England.”

“Miss Adler sends her regards,” Miss Hooper added with a shy smile. “I must admit, I was unsure of taking her up on her offer to find my perfect match, but if what she’s told me about you is true, Mr. Holmes - that you’d be very happy with a wife who was also an experienced chemist and coroner - then I’m very happy to finally meet you.” She held out her hand, stepping away from John and biting her lower lip nervously.

Sherlock for his part could do nothing but stare, long enough that her smile slipped and she started to drop her hand. Quickly he seized it in both of his, blinking rapidly as he tried to find the right thing to say. “Irene has outdone herself,” he finally blurted. “Not only are you educated and share common interests in me, but you’re alse the physical type I prefer - petite, cinnamon-haired, English rose complected although that will no doubt morph into a Prairie tan quickly enough, which I also find quite alluring on the right woman…what was I saying?” he ended, both sounding and looking quite dazed.

Mary’s gentle laughter shook him out of it. “I believe, Sherlock, you were saying that you’re very happy to meet Miss Hooper as well.”

“Indeed,” he breathed, still clutching his bride-to-be’s hand in both of his. “Indeed I am.”

Her answering smile told him all he needed to know about their future together. Well, everything but the number of children they would have.

(Which would be four, two more than the Watson’s as he would point out smugly many, many happy years later.)


End file.
